


Possession

by Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Prince caspian - Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place at the end of Prince Caspian (the movie), Peter first shows signs of hostility towards Caspian over what he perceives to be a romantic interest in Susan. This quickly turns into a dark possessive fascination with Caspian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story back in 2008 and just recently picked it up again with part 6. It begins loosely following the ending of the movie and then goes AU from there.

It was the dead of night, the sky a jet-black inky pool of darkness jaded only by the occasional light of an overhead star. On the one hand the night sky sought to relax and ease the minds and spirits of the Narnians who slept under it. However, on the other, it served as a heavy reminder of the recent demise of the men and women that had lost their lives in the battle between the Telemarines and the Narnians. How bleak was the future of the families and loved ones they had left behind.

 

“…and to think that we were drawn back to Narnia by a simple horn,” Edmund was saying as he turned the intricately crafted instrument over in his fingers.

 

“This is no mere horn,” Caspian corrected Edmund, his Spanish accent thicker than usual, a clear indication that he was getting emotionally excited over the topic. “Susan’s horn is a magical device, which wields a power far beyond our greatest imagination. Even Aslan himself was hesitant in explaining the full potential of --.”

 

Caspian was rudely interrupted by Peter’s snickering. He harshly set his gaze on the blonde haired young man – the High King of Old – sitting across from him at the campfire and was startled by the ferocity with which the look was returned.

 

“Something amuses you, King Peter?” Although Caspian kept his tone light and questioning, his dark brown eyes were daring his counterpart to stir up any further trouble. Since the Pevensies had shown up in Narnia, answering the call of Susan’s enchanted horn, Peter had gone out of his way to criticize and challenge just about everything Caspian said or did. Perhaps crossing swords upon meeting wasn’t the best first impression to make but they’d fought on the same side eventually. Whatever Peter’s earlier reservations may have been, Caspian had thought that he’d finally proven himself worthy of the support and respect from the kings and queens of old, and from Peter himself.

 

To Peter’s left side, Susan straightened up from her lounging position to give her older brother a dirty look. “Oh please, don’t start up again.” If looks could kill, Susan’s was the best for the job. Where feelings were concerned, Susan’s could certainly become a tangible thing.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of derailing _Prince_ Caspian’s overzealous interest in your beloved horn, Susan,” Peter replied with a discontent smirk. He’d had just about enough of listening to everyone go on and on about how Susan’s horn had saved the day for Caspian and for Narnia. Truth be told, hearing the sweet infliction the Telemarine youth spared for Susan’s name left a bad taste in Peter’s mouth.

 

“Isn’t it _King_ Caspian now, Susan?” Lucy innocently poked her sister in the arm for a confirmation of facts.

 

“Now until his coronation ceremony – tomorrow.” Peter corrected just as innocently.

 

It was now completely obvious to Caspian that Peter was mocking him once again. He wished to challenge Peter, to demand an explanation as to why he was the constant target of the other youth’s anger and resentment. Caspian had overheard a few distasteful references to the life that Peter led back in his own world. He’d heard Susan constantly berating the oldest Pevensie to stay in line and quit acting so brutish and disagreeable. Even Edmund had urged Peter to tone down his temper when his older brother seemed to fly off the deep end with fists and insults flying. Lucy seemed to be the wisest of the three. Aside from the rolling of her eyes, she kept a safe distance from Peter when he was on a rampage. Seeing the individual ways that the Pevensies reacted to Peter’s hostile outbursts might have provided some insight into a way that Caspian himself could skirt around the danger that was Peter. Might have… if Caspian had felt that confident.

 

“Are you ready for your big day?” Peter continued, not allowing Caspian a moment in which he might have been able to form a suitable response. “I’m sure that Susan’s horn will fit quite snugly in your new royal belt.” Every word dripped with acidic sarcasm.

 

That did it.

 

Caspian leaned forward, fists bared at his sides as he met the hostility in Peter’s smoldering blue eyes. “Exactly what are you implying?!”

 

“Don’t you dare drag me into your petty, childish feuds,” Susan shot out nastily at Peter. “I’ll stand for no more of your innuendo.” Having said her peace, she angrily brushed off her dress and leaned over to snatch her horn back from Edmund. With her other hand, she latched onto Lucy’s wrist and urged the younger girl to her feet. “There’ll be no more talk about either me or my horn. Thank you ever so much.” Giving Peter one last scowl, she led Lucy away from the campfire and in the direction of the castle. “Come along, Lucy.”

 

From far in the distance, Lucy’s hasty, “Susan, what does ‘innuendo’ mean?” could be heard.

 

Once Susan was out of range, Peter eyed Caspian, gauging the dark haired youth’s reaction to his attractive – if not overbearing – sister’s exit.

 

Edmund sat on the sidelines looking from his brother to Caspian. “You guys aren’t serious, are you? I thought that you’d settled your differences.”

 

“I had assumed so as well,” Caspian agreed.

 

“Ed, why don’t you take a walk.” Coming from Peter, that was far from being a friendly suggestion. “There’s something that I need to settle with Caspian here.”

 

“Peter,” Edmund pleaded.

 

“ _Ed_.” This time, Peter’s tone was not so nice.

 

Giving Caspian a look that may have been his last, Edmund quietly sulked off after Susan and Lucy.

 

“Now, dear _Prince_ Caspian, why don’t we have ourselves a little chat?”

 

Caspian could only watch mutely as Peter rounded on him from across the fire, somehow sensing that this was not going to go over well at all.  


	2. Chapter 2

From somewhere above their heads, an owl hooted, keen on watching whatever scene might unfold before it. Peter had stopped unnervingly close to Caspian, his face a mask of polite fury. He listened to the hooting of the owl and likened its predatory nature to that of his own. The easily ruffled Caspian was beginning to look very uncomfortable with Peter hovering above him but stubbornly refused to budge an inch, not willing to lose any ground to his adversary.

 

“What are your intentions towards Susan?” Peter demanded to know. The campfire light flickered strange patterns over his face and clothing, giving him a mysteriously eerie appearance in the darkness. It also served to make his expression all the more difficult to read.

 

“Nothing if not noble,” Caspian replied hastily. “Have I given you reason to suspect otherwise?”

 

“You mean aside from the many times that you’ve glorified and compared her to a goddess of some sort?”

 

“Surely you must be joking?” It was probably at this point that Caspian realized that Peter did not find the accusation to be amusing. But where on earth had King Peter the Magnificent – in all his wisdom and glory – pulled such a ludicrous interpretation of events from his unimaginative head? Despite all the praising that Caspian had given Susan’s name, the bulk of those comments had been directed towards her horn, not Susan herself.

 

Peter suddenly leaned down and gripped Caspian’s shoulder in a very unfriendly manner, causing those big brown eyes to widen further at him. “Your interest in my sister is very, very unwelcome. Neither she nor I will ever be returning to Narnia, which means that there is no possibility of a future between you.”

 

“I know that!” Caspian reached up to grab onto Peter’s wrist, trying to pry those strong calloused fingers off of his shoulder but they clung on like the claws of a bird of prey. He could feel untrimmed nails biting through his tunic to mar the flesh beneath and his face grew flushed with anger and a slight twinge of fear. Above him, the firelight continued to dance through Peter’s icy cold stare that trapped him in a void of… what? Hatred? No. Caspian blinked in confusion, trying to draw to mind what emotion he had witnessed reflected in Peter’s raging blue eyes.

 

“You will stay away from her, do you understand?” Even as the words left his mouth, Peter was already regretting them and the hint of madness that they contained. Why did he feel so strongly about defending his sister’s virtue? Susan was more than capable of keeping all the available men at bay with her cold indifference and condescending appraisals of any who were foolish enough to attempt to woo her. Not only that, usually Peter couldn’t give a damn about Susan’s social life in general. So why was he getting so hot and bothered over Caspian’s attraction to her? He _was_ attracted to her, wasn’t he?

 

Upon hearing that order, Caspian stiffened and glowered at Peter. “Susan is my friend and I enjoy her company. I will not be bullied into keeping my distance from her so as to satiate your demented need to be in total control of the lives of the people around you.”

 

“You _will_ heed my warning,” Peter hissed, sliding his hand down Caspian’s arm until his fingers clamped down on a slender wrist. Caspian’s look of defiance and indignation completely set off every trigger in Peter’s body that signaled for a serious nuclear meltdown.

 

“And you would do best by releasing me this instant. I will tolerate your threats no longer.” Caspian kicked out at Peter’s shins, hoping to knock him off balance and shake those biting fingers off of his wrist. Unfortunately, Peter was stronger and had more experience in the way of battles and swordplay. Kicking him only made him angrier.

 

Faster than Caspian had time to think, Peter had dropped to the ground, straddling the squirming king-to-be as he leaned down onto him. His free hand formed a fist, which he raised above Caspian’s face, preparing to clobber him good. To just smash that pretty face up and beat those flailing arms down. How easily he had disarmed Caspian just days before, overwhelming the young prince’s unsatisfying technique with the sword. And, he’d also managed to push all the wrong buttons with Caspian, while preparing for the battle that had shook them both to their very core. All he needed to insult Caspian and force him into the offensive was to belittle the prince’s strategic planning and cast blame where none was really deserved. However, it proved to be much more devastating to Caspian’s heart and mind when dredging up the ugly family history that had left the youth fatherless and at Miraz’s mercy. Peter had cut Caspian down in every way possible from the moment that they had met. Adding a few scrapes and bruises to the list of injuries he’d burdened Caspian with wouldn’t go very far in lengthening the frigid rift between them. Or would it? And why should Peter even care?

 

Gazing down into Caspian’s startled features seemed to erase all of the confusing anger that Peter had boiling inside of him. He couldn’t bring himself to damage the prince’s beautiful features anymore than he would allow himself to shoot out further insults directed at the youth’s family heritage. Beautiful? Where the hell had _that_ come from?

 

“Let me up!” The demand all but changed into a flitting whisper in the airy night as their eyes met and Caspian’s breath drew short.

 

Peter was brought back to his senses by the pounding of his own heart, echoing painfully in his head as he began to recognize the true nature of his own emotions. He studied the way Caspian’s chest rose and fell as the Telemarine prince, supine and helpless beneath Peter, peered hesitantly up at him. _Damn it!_ Peter cursed himself in blank wonder, surprised at the way his heart had blinded him. The strong urge to press down against Caspian - to quell his fear and anxiety with a searching kiss – nearly undid Peter there and then. Their close proximity stirred a heat and desire in him that he hadn’t noticed up until now.

 

So that was it!

 

With a nervous laugh, Peter carefully released Caspian and backed off to a safe distance. Imagine that! The Great High King being led on by his own sexual frustration. Peter let his shoulders droop ever so slightly in dismay and avoided making eye contact with Caspian as he stooped down to gather up his belongings.

 

“Would you care to share what you think is so humorous?” Caspian remained where he was, practically seething at what he assumed to be another form of mockery on Peter’s behalf.

 

“Like I said, we won’t be around much longer so it really doesn’t matter.” Although Peter was purposely reminding Caspian that all four Pevensie siblings would soon be off on their merry way out of Narnia – with Susan and himself never to return - he bit back a comment which would have singled out his own feelings on the subject. “Let’s just concentrate on keeping the peace until then.”

 

 _‘Keep the peace indeed!’_ Caspian frowned as he watched Peter ambling off into the night, in the opposite direction of the castle. He could hardly question the king’s hypocrisy because he was too distracted by the deafening thumping of his own heart inside his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

The second that Peter had securely locked himself in his room, he flung himself down headfirst onto the bed – boots, armor and sword attached – and growled into the pillow. How could he have been so foolish? Why hadn’t he seen this coming earlier? It really should have been obvious considering the unbearable amount of tension that had been buzzing between Caspian and himself.

 

So he’d fallen for the prince – the future king of Narnia – so what! It couldn’t be more than a whimsical crush.

 

Peter willed himself to relax, trying to coax sleep into his battle-weary limbs. He succeeded in temporarily easing the harsh lines of worry and grief around his eyes and letting go of the firm scowl that he’d molded his features into. If he gave into the exhaustion burrowing into his mind, he’d feel better in the morning. All he needed was some… sleep… and…

 

“Dammit!” The muffled curse escaped past his lips before he could stop it. Now that he was fully aware of his attraction to the Telemarine prince, it was nearly impossible for him to clear his mind of this fact. Unbidden, the oh-so-tempting image of Caspian floated into his halfway dream state, forcing him to accept the intensity of his need for the prince. He couldn’t get Caspian out of his blasted hormonally challenged head… although the clothing part really hadn’t been a problem. How could he possibly sleep while such depraved thoughts occupied his consciousness?

 

Slamming his fist into the pillow, Peter rolled over onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. He’d be gone by tomorrow afternoon, returned to the world that he had so eagerly abandoned. What was there to go back to? All the adventure lay in Narnia, not back in England where the days went by in a monotonous, mundane blur. Peter had never felt more alive than when fighting to defend the Narnians from the Telemarines. The thrill of the battle, the adrenaline that ran through his veins as he fought for his very life. For Caspian. Leaving all this meant abandoning a very large piece of what he was, what he felt, and what he had become. Not to mention never having the chance to express what he felt for Caspian.

 

_Damn it to hell!_

 

From outside, a loud boom of thunder sounded from somewhere nearby. Raising his head from the pillow, Peter stared long and hard at the bedroom window that was now being furiously pelted by a rainstorm. It must’ve started raining a while ago but he’d been so lost in his inner chaos that he hadn’t noticed. What was odd was that he hadn’t heard Caspian return from the outskirts of the forest yet. He would’ve been able to hear the prince’s boots on the flooring beyond his bedroom door had Caspian passed by it. And passing by his door was necessary considering how the prince’s chambers were along the same hallway as his own.

 

Caspian must be inside the castle somewhere. He couldn’t still be outside, could he?

 

* * *

  

After Peter had vanished from sight, Caspian had taken the task of cleaning up the campfire to heart. Before putting out the fire itself, he made sure to pick up every little forgotten article that had been left behind by the others first. Susan was by far the neatest of the Pevensies and had left very little trace of herself in the spot where she had been sitting. Edmund, on the other hand, was a disorganized mobile mess. Grimacing as he caught sight of one of Edmund’s dirty socks, Caspian gingerly plucked it up with his gloved hand and dropped it into the concave side of Peter’s forgotten shield. So far the shield was doing a pretty good job of housing a large number of peculiar looking odds and ends.

 

While searching around for anymore items to add to his little makeshift lost-and-found, Caspian found himself thinking of Peter. The more he interacted with the blond youth, the more emotionally disturbed he felt. He had no words to describe what he felt when in Peter’s presence. Although he suspected that Peter enjoyed taunting him and would stop at nothing to see him squirm in defense, Caspian unwittingly encouraged the behavior with his own response to it. Thinking back to the dreadful way that Peter had straddled his waist, that severe expression giving way to one that had momentarily flung the High King for a loop, had Caspian’s cheeks aflame in seconds. But what did it mean?

 

A mere fragment of recollection from that disquieting moment nearly drew Caspian’s heartbeat into a maddening pace. Perhaps he was putting too much weight on the significance of Peter’s impulsive actions. The king from the outside world probably gave very little thought to what he said and did before it was said or done. And if Peter wasn’t dwelling on the incident then neither should he.

 

Caspian retrieved the bucket of water that Lucy had carried over from the river and poured it over the cackling embers of the fire, immediately silencing it. As he paused to inspect the tidy state that he had left the clearing in, a single drop of rain caught the tip of his nose. A few more drops followed, disappearing into his longish wavy hair to trickle down the back of his neck.

 

That was odd… The sky had been clear a moment ago, but when Caspian looked up again he could make out a clustering of angry rain clouds hanging above his head. At the rate that they were coalescing, and the increasing speed with which the raindrops were falling, he’d be soaked within minutes.

 

Moving quickly, Caspian darted over to the large oak tree where he had rested his sword earlier. He located it with relative ease and was just beginning to reach for it when a sharp tug on his ankle brought him crashing down onto his knees and arms. Thinking that Peter had come back for another round of insults, he seized the handle of his sword, twisted around, and swung it upwards. But his sword cut through empty air for there was no one to be found. Had he simply tripped?

 

Placing the sword down at his side, Caspian pushed himself up into a sitting position, hissing in pain when he realized that the thing that had ensnared his ankle had not let go. The pressure was so keen that his toes had started to go numb from the loss of circulation. Using the very dim moonlight to aid his eyesight, Caspian latched onto the thing coiled around his ankle and cringed in disgust when his fingers encountered a greasy tar-like substance. Getting past his initial reaction, he was able to push past the tar for his fingers to trace a thin vine that had doubled up around his boot. No, not a vine. A root! He could see it clearly now, protruding from the dampening earth beneath the gigantic oak.

 

Not really interested in the reason for why the root was so far detached from the earth, Caspian dug the fingers of his left hand into it and pulled. It had to have wrapped around his ankle two or three times for it was difficult for him to get a good grip on it. After another good tug and no success, he dragged his sword over with his right hand, preparing to slash at it. That was when another root broke free from the earth to lash around his wrist, yanking his arm backwards at a painful angle.

 

“Ahh!!” Caspian cried out in pain, his sword having been thrown somewhere behind him in the confusion. At both his wrist and ankle, the roots pulled taut, stretching him out on his back. As the rain showered down on him, impairing his vision as the cold drops of water poured into his face and eyes, the earth beneath him began to soften. From nearby came the threatening clap of thunder and the sizzle of lightning streaking across the sky. He would soon be in mortal danger when the lightning grew too close to the tree, which it might consider an appealing target.

 

On the verge of attacking the root that was nearly crushing his wrist with his free hand, Caspian was unprepared for another one which clamped over his waist, and yet another that stopped the frantic kicking of his other leg. There was very little Caspian could do to maintain control now. Panicking like a wild animal, his fingertips tore at slick bark, desperate to at least have his arms free. His breathing was harsh and forced, the rainwater masking the near hysterical sounds that he was making. He struggled vainly, blocking out the chilly sensation of his clothing – frigid and soaking wet – molding to his shivering flesh. But he wasn’t able to remove from his mind the dreadful knowledge of how he was being pulled deeper into the mud at the base of the tree as the rainwater pooled around him. He would surely drown if the water level rose any higher!

 

Caspian whipped his head to the side to avoid the steady downfall of rain and was anxiously searching for his sword when an unseen root tore out of the puddle to coil around his neck, immediately beginning to choke him


	4. Chapter 4

Not wanting to start a fuss over nothing, Peter had gone to Caspian’s chambers to confirm that it was missing a prince before he actually began to worry. If there was one thing that Peter hated to do, it was worry. He was constantly fretting over the safety of his siblings and was quick to blame himself for any harm that befell them, whether it be physical or emotional. It wasn’t so unusual for him to lock himself away somewhere to wallow in the tiresome burden of his own responsible nature. When he carefully stole into Caspian’s bedroom to find it empty, he found himself once again confronted with an emotion that pinned him as being responsible for the prince’s absence. That sense of responsibility bordered on fear when he couldn’t think of any reasonable explanation as for why Caspian hadn’t returned to the castle yet.

 

Had he upset Caspian with his testosterone-motivated posturing? Maybe the prince had ventured off further into the forest in order to release the frustrated anger that he hadn’t cast upon Peter himself. No, that didn’t seem very likely. Caspian wasn’t the sort to do that kind of thing. Then what?

 

Coming up with nothing substantial, Peter was left with no choice but to double check the campfire site for Caspian. If the prince had already reentered the castle and was only hiding, then there would be no harm done… except for the bodily injuries which Peter mentally guaranteed himself he would inflict on the pretty upstart. But if something was wrong… If something had happened to Caspian… Peter would not be able to sleep until he found the prince, one way or another.

 

Pulling on a blue hooded cape that he ‘borrowed’ from Caspian’s own wardrobe, Peter set out in the rain to find his new ‘friend’. He retraced his steps once outside the castle walls, brushing the back of his hand over his face now and then to clear it of the heavy rainwater. It was literally pouring buckets outside. The only thing that urged him onwards was his concern for Caspian’s safety. He wouldn’t have been caught dead outside in such a storm otherwise.

 

The thick hood was more or less useless thanks to the gale winds that slapped his face and whipped the hood and cape to and fro in a crazy dance around his body. As he approached the campfire site, his eyes fell on the scattered articles that had been strewn all over the mucky ground. He was in the process of retrieving his shield when a horrific sight caught his attention. There, over by the tree, lay Caspian, his hair plastered against his face, his lips parted in a soundless scream. He was entangled in what appeared to be thick ropes that were dragging him down into a watery pool of mud. One of his hands was weakly tearing at his throat, but other than that he lay there, allowing the ropelike creatures to do whatever they wished with his body.

 

“CASPIAN!” Peter dashed over to the prince, slipping and crashing to his knees at the edge of the sinking pool. Caspian didn’t react at all, indicating that he either hadn’t heard Peter call him or was too distressed to do anything other than gasp for air from his constricted throat. “Hold on! I’ll have you free in a moment.” Upon closer observation, Peter was able to identify the strange black roots that had trapped Caspian. They were keeping the prince completely immobile. He had probably lost the strength to fight them any longer judging by the cruel way that they were digging into his limbs and body.

 

First things first. He needed to destroy the one that was clinging to Caspian’s neck before it strangled him to death. The only problem was that he hadn’t anticipated any sort of trouble on his midnight, stormy adventure - aside from another argument with Caspian himself – so he hadn’t come prepared. His sword was still safely locked away in the castle, in a heavy trunk situated at the foot of his loaned bed. _Damn it and double damn it!_ A testing tug on the constricting root did nothing more than choke Caspian further so Peter quickly released it. Glancing around frantically for something heavy or sharp, his gaze fell upon Caspian’s lost sword a few meters away. Peter dashed over to the sword, lifted it effortlessly and was back kneeling at Caspian’s side within seconds.

 

“Hold on!” Peter repeated as he held the sword aloft and then swung it down harshly on the root. The detached tendril flailed about for a few seconds before falling slack and then releasing Caspian. The young prince continued to gasp, alarming Peter severely and causing him to wonder if perhaps Caspian’s windpipe had been crushed in the attack. And still, the remaining roots would not relent in their mindless task of attempting to drown Caspian. Now, fully enraged and willing to inflict some major damage of his own, Peter slashed at those offending roots, tearing into them, chopping some cleanly in two. Finally, he had Caspian free and bent down to drag the Telemarine clear of the mucky pool that had almost become his burial site. “Caspian! You’re free!” Peter cupped one hand behind Caspian’s head to support the soaking wet, muddy prince as he coughed roughly, his throat no doubt raw and quite inflamed. When Caspian still did not draw in a normal breath, Peter peered down into the prince’s handsome face, trying to convey his own sense of calmness and stability. Unfortunately, Caspian was unable to benefit from Peter’s make-belief strength because the younger man was apparently unconscious. The urgency of his gasping was a purely physical response to the violent way his body had been treated.

 

Overhead, a streak of lightning zigzagged down across the sky, coming within inches of striking the highest branch of the monstrous tree that had attacked Caspian.

 

“Let’s get you back to the castle… put some warmth back in your skin,” Peter said in a loud, confident voice. He felt none of that confidence as he hoisted Caspian into his arms, forcing himself to bear the chill that the prince’s icy body shared with his arms and chest. He hated that Caspian lacked the strength to will himself back to consciousness. He cursed as he stumbled back to the castle, losing his footing several times in the muddy ground, once crashing down onto his right knee to avoid dropping Caspian. However, at the bottom of all his anger and cursing lay a heavy guilt that blamed him for having left Caspian alone and at the mercy of the vile entity that had inflicted injury and pain on a man whom Peter was forced to admit that he cared deeply about.


	5. Chapter 5

The rain continued to bombard the Telemarine castle from the outside as Peter’s footsteps thundered up the steps on the inside. His boots screeched on the staircase as he propelled himself upwards, waking half the castle with his maddening progress. Before he reached the top of the staircase, he was surrounded on nearly all sides by servants rushing out of their rooms to see what manner of devil was running amok in the castle on such a hellish night. In amongst them were Edmund, Susan, and Lucy.

 

One sharp glance at the ruined state of Caspian’s appearance, deathly pale and covered in cuts and welts, and Susan hastily dragged Lucy back into their shared bedroom. The young girl had seen more pain and suffering than was suitable for her tender age.

 

Peter brushed past Edmund, heading towards Caspian’s chambers as he barked out orders to the servants. “I need hot water, bandages, a salve… something… _anything_ to stop the bleeding.” He carried Caspian through the threshold, past the bed and into the bathing area.

 

“What the bloody hell happened?” Edmund dogged behind at Peter’s heels, frantically trying to assist his older brother.

 

“Not now, Ed,” Peter ground out through his chattering teeth. He lowered Caspian to the floor as servants rushed past him with buckets of hot water, intent on filling the porcelain bath by the far wall. Retrieving Caspian’s sword from his belt, Peter caught the young prince’s collar with his other hand, snagged the tip of the sword at the soggy fastenings that bound the silk shirt together and sliced it from the chilled body. Knowing that it was useless to bother with buttons, fastenings, and ties – or whatever else Caspian had managed to bundle himself up in – Peter took the liberty of making short work of the sopping mess of tangled fabrics that clung to the prince’s slender limbs.

 

Ignoring Susan, who had appeared at his side, Peter prepared to lift Caspian into the steaming hot bath water. It was a very fortunate thing that Susan had appeared when she did for she gave her older brother the look of death, causing him to pause and question her.

 

“What?!” Peter practically screeched at his sibling, not at all interested in listening to his sister’s condescending nagging when Caspian’s life hung in the balance.

 

“You really are an idiot, do you know that?” Being mindful to avoid settling her gaze on certain parts of Caspian that she found… ‘educational’, Susan concentrated her attention on the bloody purple lines that hideously marred the flesh of Caspian’s throat. “You can’t just dunk him into a scalding hot cauldron without treating these wounds first.” Having said that, she waved one of the servants over to help her disinfect and treat that particular injury.

 

“And why not? He’s as cold as ice,” Peter snarled. “He can’t wait a minute longer.”

 

“Considering how badly he’s already injured, I suppose that he wouldn’t mind suffering the pain of being dropped into a hot bath that’s going to burn every one of these open cuts,” she retorted sarcastically.

 

Peter bit back whatever he was about to say, feeling like an idiot for not having thought about the effect the hot water might have on Caspian’s injuries. As much as he hated to admit it, Susan was right. “You needn’t be so nasty about it,” he muttered under his breath as he picked up the pungent alcoholic concoction that the Telemarines used as a disinfectant and set to work rubbing it into Caspian’s damaged wrists.

 

Meanwhile, Edmund, judging that Peter and Susan were fairly preoccupied with what they were doing, set to work drying Caspian with some of the best bath towels that he plucked off of a silver adorned banister attached to the wall behind the bath.

 

Once Caspian was bandaged up, Peter lifted the unresponsive young man into the bathtub, doing his best to keep most of the injuries clear of the water. Although it didn’t seem very practical, he’d also decided on keeping Caspian’s undergarments securely in place with Susan clucking her disapproval over his shoulder.

 

When Caspian moaned low in his throat and began to stir, Peter shot his sister a sour look that would’ve melted flesh if given half the chance. “ _Really_ , Susan, don’t you think that now would be the appropriate time to make an exit?”

 

“Oh, come off it! As if I haven’t seen my fair share of naked boys,” Susan retorted peevishly.

 

Edmund watched his siblings on the precipice of another nasty falling-out but chose not to get involved. He knew from experience that getting in the middle would just open himself up to attack, and picking sides would get him killed. So… better to just sneak out while he had the chance.

 

“I beg your pardon?!” Peter’s stomach turned at the imagery of his sister engaging in sexual acts with some of their mutual friends at school. He knew the ‘boys’ that Susan seemed to be implicating and nothing riled him up more than the thought of his sister frivolously romping about with those types of animals.

 

Susan hardly noticed Edmund edging past her and rushing out the door as she challenged Peter’s unmistakable disgust. “That’s none of your business. My point is that I have absolutely no problem with tending to Caspian’s wounds… even in his current state of undress. You don’t know the first thing about first aid so that just leaves me.”

 

“ _You_ might not have a problem with gawking at Caspian in his skivvies,” Peter spat out in anger, “but _he ­_ – being a prince – will probably have a problem with _you_.” To drill home what he meant, Peter elaborated for her. “If he wakes up and finds you staring at him like this, he’s going to be royally embarrassed. Knowing what a drama queen Caspian is, he might even become hysterical. You’re going to screw up his confidence and pride. I think that you ought to show him a little more respect by getting out of here before all hell breaks loose.”

 

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Throwing her arms into the air out of exasperation, Susan stormed over to the door. “You men are all a bunch of babies!” Having said that, she shut the door unkindly behind her on the way out.

 

Seconds after Susan’s retreat, Caspian began to come around, his breathing becoming shallower as he relived the nightmarish attempted strangulation in the forest. His arms flailed for a moment with Peter grabbing them frantically and pinning them to the sides of the bathtub. “Calm down, you’re safe now,” he said woodenly. This was feeling more awkward than he’d imagined it would. “Just relax.”

 

Caspian gasped, his eyes opening suddenly to take in his surroundings. “W—where…?” The sound that escaped Caspian’s throat was raw and wounded, barely above a whisper.

 

“You’re in your chambers.” Assuming that Caspian would no longer struggle now that he knew where he was, Peter set to work rubbing the circulation back into the young man’s arms. When Caspian didn’t attempt to say anything further, choosing to glare at the far wall wearing an expression that couldn’t have passed for anything other than anger and humiliation, Peter crouched closer to the tub to meet that glare head-on. He didn’t act surprised when Caspian turned away, refusing to accept the challenge. “What? Is it unfitting for your _royal highness_ ,” he snickered as he taunted Caspian, “to be seen naked by another man?” He received not even a word in response to his ploy to rouse the Telemarine’s willful spirit. Settling back onto the heels of his feet, Peter grabbed for a bar of soap with one hand, and a sponge with the other.

 

Caspian, cheeks aflame, shoved roughly at the sponge that rubbed insistently over his left shoulder. “I don’t… need…” He could barely get that much out, but he forced himself to reject anymore of Peter’s shameful assistance. To have had to be rescued by the almighty – and egotistically boundless – King Peter was more than enough to beat down what was left of his pride. To humor anymore of what Caspian perceived to be a lack of respect on Peter’s part was out of the question.

 

“Oh to hell with it!” Peter stomped to his feet, whipped the sponge at the wall and set his emblazoned eyes on the prince, without mercy. “I ought to beat you senseless for being the careless little upstart that you are! If you think that I rescued you just so that I could brag about it, you really are as dense as you look. What in the name of hell were you doing out there tonight?! Trying to get yourself bloody well killed? If I had hesitated just a moment longer before searching for you, I wouldn’t be faced with the unpleasantness of having to bathe you. No, I would be out there,” he senselessly waved his arm in the general direction of the courtyard, “digging a six-foot hole for your grave!”

 

His tirade over and done with, Peter stood there with his arms crossed in front of his chest, breathing heavily, contemplating the tangled emotions in the pit of his stomach. As furious as he was with Caspian, his gaze never left the prince, continuing to watch him like a hawk eyeing its prey.

 

For another few minutes, Caspian defiantly continued to avoid looking in Peter’s direction, struggling to keep his breathing steady. He didn’t want to show any signs of weakness that would draw Peter closer and thereby destroy his concentration. He thought back to the fragments of memory he had from the attack that had nearly killed him. He’d barely been holding onto life when Peter had showed up, wrestling those painful roots off of him, fighting like a madman to get him free. Peter had been nothing if not gallant, brave, and loyal, risking his own life in order to save Caspian’s. Had Peter’s reflexes not been what they were, those roots might have strung the king up in a similar manner, damning them both to die a slow and agonizing death in that rainstorm.

 

If it hadn’t been for Peter…

 

Caspian closed his eyes tightly, fighting against the terrifying sensation of having the air – the very life – choked out of him. It took even more precious minutes for him to collect his thoughts and attempt to speak. When he opened his eyes again, tentatively glancing in Peter’s direction, he was both confused and reassured to find that the king had not left his side. Everything that Peter had done for him proved that there was more going on inside that blond head than just some ego trip. Could it be that Peter actually cared for him? Caspian was almost too afraid to entertain such a possibility.

 

“I’m sorry,” Caspian began, swallowing hard when his throat constricted painfully. “If it hadn’t… been… for you…”

 

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, looking at Caspian intensely. “Let’s get one thing straight. I didn’t do it to prove anything to anyone.” He leaned in closer, his fingers combing through Caspian’s damp, wavy tousled hair. His eyes darkened with lust, his fingers coiling in Caspian’s hair, pulling tight to hold him still. “I did it because the thought of losing you makes my blood go cold.”

 

Before Caspian could register what had been said or what Peter was doing, he found himself immobilized by the strong fingers tangled in his hair and the arm that wrapped around his waist, lifting him halfway out of the water. And then Peter was so close Caspian dared not breathe for fear of upsetting him. When Peter’s lips pressed roughly against his own, Caspian reacted instinctively, trying to pull away and avoid the contact. But he was trapped by his awkward position and Peter’s superior strength. Peter’s lips were cool and rough, kissing Caspian like a drunken brute that was starving for the taste of flesh. During the first few seconds of the kiss, Caspian protested, panicking when it seemed as if Peter was about to climb into the tub with him. However, as the kiss became more tender, Caspian found himself becoming lost to the passion that Peter burned with. The fingers in his hair relented, stroking over his face as Peter’s tongue pushed aggressively between his lips. The kiss deepened, and Caspian now began to welcome it, moaning against Peter’s mouth and reaching up to pull his captor closer still.


	6. Chapter 6

Seconds earlier, Caspian’s limbs had been numb with cold, chilled to the bone. Even the warmth from the bath water hadn’t been able to reach deep enough, to where he really needed it. However, as soon as Peter’s lips settled on his own, Caspian found the feeling of being enshrouded in ice replaced by a sudden surge of fire.

 

The water sloshed over the sides of the porcelain tub as Peter leaned over it, capturing Caspian in a fierce embrace, his sleeves soaked straight up to the shoulders. His knees ached from where he balanced himself on the hard, marble flooring, but he had the common sense not to try climbing in beside Caspian. That would be nearly impossible to explain should one of the servants choose to intrude on them.

 

Peter felt Caspian’s lips warm up to his kisses as he probed the prince’s mouth with his tongue, exploring, tasting. When he felt Caspian begin to kiss him back, he became emboldened to seek more. More sensation, more physical contact, more of Caspian. His fingers trailed up Caspian’s side and then over his chest, locating a nipple that was exposed to the air. The bathroom was frigid inside, as was any room that was not furnished with a fireplace or woodstove. Caspian’s nipple was taut, most likely from the chilly air. Peter dragged his fingers over it, earning a startled gasp from the young prince. That sound caused him to hesitate, glancing back at the bathroom door that was ajar a few centimeters.

 

“Wait,” Peter breathed heavily, getting up and moving to the door. He quietly pushed it closed and turned the lock. When he turned back to Caspian, he found his lover-to-be watching him in barely concealed anticipation. Propriety be damned! Neither of them would be leaving this bathroom until Peter took from Caspian what he had been desperately craving.

 

Leaning over the bathtub was uncomfortable, as was kneeling on such an unforgiving surface. The only place that looked remotely enticing was that great big bathtub, where Caspian was lounging in wait. Not sparing the mechanics of two men fitting into that one tub a single thought, Peter stepped closer and began to shirk off his clothing. His gaze caught Caspian’s and held it, daring the prince to put a halt to what had now become inevitable. He was slightly disappointed when Caspian did no such thing. Perhaps Peter relied too much on antagonizing others in order to satisfy his own emotional failings. He ought to count his blessing and consider himself fortunate for being able to maneuver Caspian into such a vulnerable position.

 

As the last article of clothing dropped to the ground, Peter just stood there for a moment to allow Caspian the chance to get a long look. He had no modesty when it came to showcasing what he thought was his best feature – his well toned body. And, unlike Caspian, Peter had taken it all off, undergarments included.

 

“Like what you see, _Prince_ Caspian?” Peter confidently approached the bathtub, his infliction on the word _prince_ sounding more affectionate than mocking. Caspian appeared to have some difficulty expressing his opinion on the sight of such a magnificent example of masculinity. Or so Peter assumed at first. But when he reached the edge of the tub and touched the side of Caspian’s face, he discovered that the prince was trembling slightly. “What is it?” He became concerned when Caspian didn’t readily offer a reply.

 

After Caspian had seemingly become accustomed to Peter’s nudity, he found himself struggling for the right words to illustrate his lack of knowledge in what the other young man wanted from him. “Where you come from, is it not in the least bit strange to entertain this kind of behavior?” He asked instead.

 

“To what are you referring?” Peter leaned down to capture Caspian’s lips in another smoldering kiss. As Caspian began to gradually relax again, Peter pulled back to dip his hand into the water, never taking his eyes off of his lover’s face. Or, at least Caspian would become his lover after Peter finished with him tonight.

 

“Intimacy before one is wed,” Caspian ground out, his tone indicating that he wondered if Peter were an imbecile for needing the clarification.

 

“Oh… Oh!” Peter abruptly caught on. “I completely forgot how backwards this world can often be.” Not deeming it necessary to give Caspian an answer right away, Peter set his sights on the warm bath his lover was sitting in. His own skin was covered in goosebumps from the drafty air, making that warm bath all the more inviting. Not giving Caspian the common courtesy of warning him first, Peter climbed into the bathtub beside him. He heard Caspian make an indignant sound, trying to pull his legs out of the way, but Peter wouldn’t let him. He pushed Caspian’s legs open and settled himself between them, leaving no doubt what his intentions were. “Those who are fortunate in love do have spectacular weddings before they commit to the act,” he explained, picking up where he left off. “And then there are those who are damned by fate. Only able to enjoy a brief moment or two before they are separated. Which category do you think we fit into, dear Caspian?”

 

Caspian’s tearful glare caught Peter off guard and nearly tore through his very soul. “If we do this, Peter, I have no wish to be separated from you! There must be something you can do to prevent that from happening. After all, you are a king! Unless… your motives are fueled by nothing more than a selfish need for physical release.”

 

“If that were all I was after, I would have been finished with you long ago,” Peter confessed in anguish. He pressed Caspian back into the tub, one hand supporting the back of his lover’s neck, and the other sliding down lower. His kisses were no longer gentle and patient. They’d grown demanding and uncontrollable upon learning what Caspian wanted of him. Caspian wrapped both arms around him, pulling him in closer as his hand wandered lower still. He skimmed over Caspian’s belly, his fingers hooking onto the elastic of the white cloth that passed for underwear in Narnia, and pulled them down.

 

Caspian gasped when Peter’s palm brushed past the dark curl of hairs between his legs before seizing him in a firm grasp. He’d never felt anything so powerful, or so erotic, as that powerful hand moving up and down his length. Enduring such delicious torture was anything but a hardship for him, but he nearly lost himself when one of his nipples was licked and then sucked into Peter’s hot mouth.

 

“Peter!” Caspian moaned, wanting to push Peter away when the sensations became too intense, but ended up instinctively pulling him closer. He trusted Peter, whatever his intentions were. Such pleasures were foreign to him, but no longer unwelcome.

 

Peter nipped at Caspian’s nipple, and then moved onto the other one, lavishing it with just as much attention. While Caspian was occupied with his skillful tongue, Peter released Caspian’s erection, leaving him wanting more. But Peter also had a burning need, and there was only one way to satiate it. He caressed the insides of Caspian’s thighs, trying to get him as relaxed as possible, before his fingers explored deeper. His index finger located Caspian’s entrance and, before he could be refused, he gently pushed it inside. Predictably, Caspian didn’t react so well to the intrusion, so Peter ended up holding him down until he calmed down again. “Easy,” he soothed, as if he were talking to a spooked horse. “It will feel better in a minute.”

 

Caspian remained tense but nodded, taking Peter’s word for it. But when Caspian couldn’t relax, Peter stopped and reached over the side of the tub for the jar of salve that the servants had left. He coated his finger in it and tried again, this time slipping into Caspian easier. Caspian was quiet, bearing the discomfort, until Peter touched something inside him that shattered his composure.

 

“That’s better,” Peter murmured, kissing Caspian again as he got his lover used to the feeling of being penetrated in such a way. He added another finger, slowly stretching Caspian until his lover didn’t seem capable of taking anymore. Keeping his attention on Caspian, Peter reached down and began to stroke himself to his full length. He adored the flushed look of desire on Caspian’s face as the prince gazed up at him, captivated by his movements. “I’ll think of something,” he promised, unable to take Caspian in good conscience without committing to him. “No matter what I have to do, I will not leave you. You have my word.”

 

“Thank you, Peter,” Caspian whispered, wrapping his long legs around Peter’s waist. “Your word is all I ask for.”

 

Peter aligned himself up with Caspian’s prepared entrance and carefully pushed forwards. At first, it was difficult to breach that heat because Caspian had no experience in the act and resisted, no doubt after he’d witnessed how well endowed Peter was. But after the third try, Peter was able to push into Caspian, penetrating him slowly and carefully.

 

Caspian gasped at the feeling of fullness inside him as Peter rocked his hips forward, thrusting deeper still. And then he hit that spot that had nearly caused Caspian to come undone the first time. Caspian moaned and pushed down onto Peter, desperate to feel that intense burn one more time.

 

Peter gripped Caspian by his hips to still him and pulled back a bit before thrusting back in. He set a slow pace at first, silently instructing Caspian to follow the rhythm that he was building. When Caspian began to meet him, thrust for thrust, Peter quickened the pace and thrust harder. He longed to bury himself in the tight, hot heat of Caspian and just lose himself there. Nothing ought to feel so good. But sinking deep into Caspian did, and Peter would rather welcome the wrath of all of Narnia than ever let Caspian be taken from him.

 

As Peter was drawing out his pleasure, he found himself groaning as Caspian wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling himself into Peter’s arms. Now that Caspian was sitting in Peter’s lap, all Peter had to do was thrust upwards one more time, the angle allowing him to bury himself deeply into his lover. Caspian submitted to his release with a breathless moan, lowering his head onto Peter’s shoulder to rest there. Peter soon followed, filling Caspian with his seed.

 

They stayed that way for a while, arms locked around each other, as the candles providing illumination for the bathroom began to flicker and die down.

 

“Caspian, I love you,” Peter said quietly, nudging his lover off so that he could kiss him again.

 

“And I love you, Peter,” Caspian emotionally declared before allowing himself to be kissed.


	7. Chapter 7

It was still before daybreak when Peter heard the royal trumpets merrily announcing the day of the coronation – the day Prince Caspian would be crowned king. There were many preparations to be made, formalities to be played through, and proper functions to be attended. Although he hadn’t inquired about it, he knew that Caspian’s schedule was bound to be inundated with appointments and rehearsals. Needless to say, the act of becoming king was not a trivial affair and needed to be treated with the utmost care and respect. Attention to detail was most important. But those very details were the source of Peter’s headache.

 

Peter felt Caspian shift in his arms and casually stroked the palm of his hand over the prince’s hip before squeezing his firm buttocks possessively. And why shouldn’t he? Caspian was his now to do with as he pleased.

 

The spacious chambers that were designated for the future king of Narnia left nothing up to chance. Anything that the young prince had the need for was provided in abundance. There were plenty of embroidered pillows and cushions lining the bed in royal reds and blues. Golden tassels hung from both ends of the woolen blankets that covered the expansive bed. The walls were decorated with some form of bizarre carvings and those were toned down by the serene paintings of wondrous creatures and beautiful landscapes surrounding them. On a long wooden table at the far end of the room were grooming materials that Peter supposed were meant for the hair… or perhaps they were for leather boots? And he wasn’t entirely certain what Caspian needed a whole wardrobe full of capes and frilly shirts, for. There were only so many days in a week, and plenty of servants being kept busy on any one of them. It just seemed more practical to wash the shirts, rather than have enough of them to last a fortnight before having to cycle through them again.

 

By the bed, someone had left an old copper pot of herbal tea that Peter had sampled during the night. It had most likely been hot when it had been left there, but it wasn’t when he forced the god-awful brew down his throat. Beside the pot were sweet cakes and a few pieces of dried meat should Caspian feel hungry. There had been more earlier on, but both Peter and Caspian had gone through half of them after their second bout of lovemaking.

 

When Peter leaned over to the side of the bed to pick up another sweet cake, Caspian moaned softly, finally stirring from his pleasant slumber thanks to Peter’s wandering hands. “Morning, my prince,” Peter said cheerfully as he took a bite of the slightly dry snack, dropping crumbs all over the fine linen.

 

“Good morning, Peter,” Caspian replied as he raised his head off of Peter’s chest to look up at him, his eyes bright and his smile warm.

 

“How did you sleep?”

 

“Quite peacefully. And you?” Caspian stretched, pausing when he felt Peter’s hand glide suggestively down the backs of his thighs.

 

“You’re not getting up just yet.” Having finished his pre-breakfast snack, Peter brushed his hand off on the bed sheets and propped himself up on a bunch of cushions, pulling Caspian up with him. “We need to talk.”

 

“Have you figured out a solution to our dilemma?” Caspian asked hopefully.

 

“I have,” Peter replied confidently.

 

“That’s wonderful news!”

 

Peter frowned, not wanting to be the one to ruin that beautiful smile of Caspian’s, but not really having a choice in the matter. “However, I guarantee that you aren’t going to like it.”

 

“And why is that? If we can be together, isn’t it worth any amount of hardship we must endure? Peter, you promised--.”

 

Peter pressed his fingers to Caspian’s lips, silencing him. “This isn’t about me, Caspian. This is about you. There is nothing I can do to hold this relationship together. I have already considered many possibilities and come to the conclusion that you are the key to our future.”

 

“Me?” Caspian brushed Peter’s fingers aside and gazed at him suspiciously. “Could you please elaborate on what it is you believe I am capable of doing?”

 

“Give up the throne.” There, he’d said it. And, as expected, it didn’t take long for Caspian to react indignantly to his understated plan.

 

“Why in Narnia’s good name would I do that? Both the Telmarines and the Narnians have need of a new ruler, someone to unite them and see them through these trying times. But you would have me abdicate the throne and abandon my people? To what end? And who would take my place?”

 

“I would.” Peter slid his fingers through Caspian’s longish, wavy hair, and pulled tight to hold him still as he kissed him passionately on the mouth. When he had silenced Caspian’s protests, he shared more details of his carefully crafted plan. “You are right that Narnia needs a new ruler, but it doesn’t have to be you. If you refuse to accept the throne, they will be forced to search for someone to take your place. They won’t have to look far because I will volunteer. That way I will be allowed to stay in Narnia, and we will be able to stay together. Forever.”

 

“But that would leave me a prince, indefinitely,” Caspian mused, and not in a good way. “How are a king and a prince going to remain together in this world? There has never been mention of such a thing in all the annals of Narnia.”

 

“That, my dear Caspian, is the easy part. Once I become king, I will change whatever laws need to be changed, and I will keep you by my side as my partner.”

 

“Partner?” Caspian distastefully repeated the word Peter had chosen and pushed away from his lover.

 

“Marriage partner,” Peter specified, pulling Caspian back into his arms. “That is what you want, isn’t it? You think I have forgotten what you said last night? You worried about us making love before we were wed. Of course you stupidly didn’t consider that there are currently laws in place that forbid us from doing so. If I become king, I will change those laws, and then you may choose whatever title suits you best. I really don’t care about anything other than being with you, Caspian.” When Caspian remained silent, running his fingers thoughtfully up and down Peter’s arm, Peter smirked. “After what we did last night, there is no need to be so shy. Is that a yes? You do want to marry me?”

 

“Yes, Peter. I want no less than that,” Caspian said honestly, feeling the weight of what he was agreeing to in his heart. The idea of spending all eternity with Peter was like a fantasy he had never dared to entertain before now. But his lover sounded so sure of himself that Caspian finally allowed himself to imagine a future with the brash warrior who was supposedly destined to leave Narnia before the end of the day.

 

“So, you will make the announcement this morning? Before Aslan forces me to leave?”

 

“That is not a question that you even have to ask.”

 

Practically bursting with joy, Peter climbed over Caspian to straddle his hips and pressed him down into the mattress, covering his face and body with kisses.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning festivities, although grand, were on nowhere near as magnificent a scale as the evening festivities were rumored to be. Narnians and Telmarines alike were gathered inside the courtyard outside the castle, chatting excitedly about what they hoped would be a glorious coronation. Prince Caspian had more than proven himself worthy of the throne, and was known as a kind and honest youth, qualities that were valued above all else in Narnia. Not many people had actually met Caspian, and that was what most of the buzz was about. What would the real Caspian be like in person? Was he all that the gossip said he was?

 

A hush fell over the crowd when Caspian appeared at the far end of the courtyard, wearing a rich cream and silver silk shirt, the sleeves embroidered with royal symbols along the wrists. His dark green slacks were neatly pressed and tucked into his black leather boots that were laced up the knees. His hair had been brushed exactly one hundred times so that it shone under the rising sun. Normally the king-to-be would be preceded by the current king, but since there wasn’t one, Caspian walked out alone. Until he had reached the podium at which he was expected to speak, and then Peter marched purposefully up to him, ignoring the murmurs that floated through the crowd. Peter was most assuredly the only person present who noticed that Caspian was walking quite stiffly this morning.

 

Peter took his place behind Caspian, also dressed in a fairly decent light blue shirt and dark slacks, but with his sword slung over one hip. He hadn’t bothered to comb his dirty blonde hair, having briefly paused in front of the mirror to just smooth it down. He knew that Caspian’s short speech was going to make a very big impression on their audience. In order for the people to accept him as their king, Peter knew that he would have to present himself as such. A king needed to be powerful and assertive, and the sword and lack of care in his hairstyle conveyed to the crowd that he was a man of action, not pretense.

 

Once the crowd had quieted down, Caspian nervously raised his voice to be heard as far back as possible. “Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you kindly for honoring me with your presence today. I feel very fortunate and humbled to have garnered the support of so many wonderful people.”

 

“Keep it short,” Peter muttered from where he was scuffing his feet behind Caspian. The last thing they needed was for everyone to be drawn into a touching speech that ended in _and I don’t want to be your king_. Better to get it over with quickly rather than making it painful by drawing it out.

 

“… but I am afraid that I have chosen to abdicate the thrown and have chosen someone worthier than myself to rule in my stead,” Caspian went on to say, the crowd going into an uproar no sooner had the words left his mouth. “King Peter would make a far more suitable king than myself, for he has the experience, the power, and the wisdom to rule this land.” Caspian looked up briefly to catch sight of Aslan in the center of the sea of faces, his magnificent mane bristling with disapproval even as his eyes narrowed in warning. The great lion began to make his way through the middle of the gathering, men and women scurrying quickly about to clear a path for him. But it was already too late. Peter had already stepped forward to join Caspian at the podium.

 

“I would be honored to take Prince Caspian’s place as king of Narnia,” Peter announced proudly, squaring his shoulders and jutting out his chin to present himself to his people.

 

“You will do no such thing!”

 

Everyone in the audience turned to look at a stately man with short dark hair and green eyes, dressed all in black. He looked to be approximately ten or so years older than Caspian and Peter, but whereas Caspian had been raised as no more than a commoner under Miraz, this man seemed to have been brought up in a more decadent manner. He stepped forward to challenge Peter, his pompous attitude displayed all too clearly in the way he carried himself.

 

“And who are you to question the will of Aslan?” Peter demanded to know. This was not part of the plan. Nobody was supposed to object to Caspian’s decision. He hadn’t factored Caspian’s ruling being questioned by anyone other than Aslan into his perfect plan, and it was already past the point where the mystical figurehead of Narnia could interfere. Once Caspian abdicated the thrown in front of this many witnesses, there was no way he could take retract his statement.

 

“I, Levarn, first son of Miraz hereby claim the throne that Caspian so foolishly forfeited,” the man shouted to the audience, turning to address them directly. “As legendary a warrior as King Peter is, he has no right to the throne of Narnia. The law clearly states that should the chosen ruler die, abdicate the throne, or appear unfit for ruling, the next in the bloodline shall take his place. That man shall be me!”

 

When Levarn turned again to begin striding purposefully for the podium, Peter looked at Caspian, hoping for an explanation. But the nephew of the sinister Miraz showed no recognition of this so-called lost cousin and appeared to be too stunned for words. As Levarn got closer, he drew his sword, his focus entirely on Caspian. The crowd became riled up, voicing their confusion and displeasure at this turn of events.

 

As soon as Levarn got within striking distance, Peter took up a fighting stance in front of Caspian to protect him, drawing his own sword to bring it clashing up to meet the stranger’s opening attack.


	8. Chapter 8

Rhindon, as Peter’s eternally sharp sword was named, scraped down Levarn’s blade, stopping short of chopping off the hilt and the interloper’s hand with it. The man claiming to be Miraz’s heir met Peter’s indiscriminate attack with scorn and disbelief. Although given ample time to engage the former ruler of Narnia, Levarn withdrew his sword instead.

 

“King Peter,” Levarn began, only to be interrupted by Peter’s anger materializing itself as a burst of arrogance.

 

“That’s High King Peter the Magnificent, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, and Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion to you,” Peter haughtily corrected him. He did not retract his sword or move an inch, keeping himself between the older man and Caspian.

 

Levarn made a disgruntled sound with the back of his throat and tilted the blade of his sword so that Peter could see the inscription there. “I had no intention of attacking Caspian,” he said with disinterest, obviously trying to put Peter’s paranoia to rest. “I was merely attempting to show proof of my identity. This sword belonged to my father Miraz and was given to me on my sixteenth birthday, along with the estate in which I now live. I am who I say I am.”

 

“I don’t care who you say you are. You would do best to show some respect to Prince Caspian and address him by his full title.”

 

“Peter!”

 

Peter turned to find one terribly frightening lion pawing aggressively at the ground next to him. The mighty lion’s fur was bristling with discontent and impatience. Behind him was a very troubled looking trio of Pevensie siblings.

 

“Come with me, son of Adam,” Aslan commanded. “The rest of you will follow him.”

 

“But--.” Peter moved to take Caspian’s hand, nearly jumping out of his skin when Aslan roared at him.

 

“Leave Prince Caspian and come with me, immediately!”

 

Left with no choice but to obey, Peter gave Caspian an apologetic look, feeling awful about leaving him alone with a relative he would most likely not want to acquaint himself with. As they were about to leave, Peter thought better of abandoning Caspian unarmed to the likes of Levarn. He casually turned back to Caspian as Aslan and his siblings began to walk away, pressing the gold hilt of his sword into his lover’s palm. That action alone spoke much louder than words, at once warning Lavern not to try anything while he was gone, and also reminding Caspian that he would soon return. If anything happened while he was gone, Caspian could defend himself with the greatest sword that had ever been forged in Narnia. Caspian inclined his head to Peter, acknowledging the unspoken message, and tightened his grip on the sword.

 

* * *

 

As Peter’s siblings followed Aslan further away from the courtyard, they began to attack him one by one.

 

“Surely Caspian wasn’t so terribly injured from last night’s attack that he had to refuse the throne,” Susan said under her breath at Peter. “What on Earth did you do to get him to hand it over to you? More bullying and threats, I suppose.”

 

“Honestly, Peter, this time you’ve really gone and done it,” Edmund admonished his older brother, gesturing to the way Aslan was practically tearing up the turf in his wake. “I’ve never seen him so royally ticked off.”

 

“Why must you fight with everyone?” Lucy added. “And what does ‘abdicate’ mean?”

 

When they were far from the sight of the gathering of onlookers, Aslan rounded on Peter, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl and his dark eyes shining dangerously. “You haven’t the faintest idea of what you have initiated here today,” he began, pacing back and forth in front of the eldest Pevensie. “Although I am curious as to how you managed to persuade Caspian into forsaking that which was rightfully owed him, we do not have the luxury of lengthy explanations and meaningless apologies.”

 

“Caspian had nothing to do with this. It was all my doing,” Peter insisted, not wanting his lover to have to deal with Aslan’s wrath.

 

“The reason for his foolishness no longer concerns me. But the appearance of Miraz’s firstborn Levarn does.”

 

“We aren’t even entirely certain that he is who he says he is,” Peter scoffed. “He just conveniently shows up here to take the throne from me? I mean, from Caspian?”

 

“Had Caspian simply accepted his birthright, Levarn would have left him in peace. He would have seen that Caspian’s followers are powerful and vast. A commoner with no title would not have stood a chance of challenging a king as well-loved as Caspian would have become. Alas, the mockery you turned Caspian’s coronation into has changed everything. Already he has lost the respect and admiration of those who would have pledged their allegiance to him. There will be no more talk of how kind and pure Caspian’s heart is. Now they will look down upon him and call him a coward and a weak boy with no substance. And he has no one but you to thank for that, Peter.”

 

“Isn’t that a bit harsh?” Susan asked, feeling bad for Peter who just stood there and took Aslan’s dressing down without uttering a word in his own defense.

 

Truthfully, Peter had never imagined that the ramifications of his actions would be this far-reaching. Or that they would damage Caspian’s reputation and smear his character so horribly. “It was never my intention to hurt Caspian,” Peter finally said, hanging his head low in shame. “I’ll go back and relinquish the throne to him. I’ll make things right again.” And think of another way for them to stay together that didn’t involve wrecking the young prince’s life.

 

“You cannot!” Aslan growled angrily before forcing himself to speak in calmer tones. “What is done is done. And it is already leading to calamity as we speak. I was familiar with Levarn before I spotted him in the crowd. He was born out of wedlock before Miraz left his mother for the woman that he would marry. In the first few years of his life, Miraz provided for them, allowing them to have quite a lavish lifestyle. But, when Levarn grew older, he became more ambitious, worrying Miraz that he might have another contender for the throne. For Miraz was not willing to relinquish command until he felt ready to do so. So, he continued to finance Levarn’s education and give him whatever he desired, but in all other aspects he cut him off. If you judged Miraz to be a devious man of harsh character, you will be shocked to find that his offspring is many times worse.”

 

“What do you suggest I do?” Peter asked, his concern for Caspian beginning to manifest itself in his frantic gestures and nearly hysterical voice. He sensed that there was something that Aslan wasn’t saying, something far worse than Levarn simply taking the throne from Caspian.

 

“I can say with much certainty that Levarn has no doubt gone over the laws of Narnia with a fine tooth comb. And, if he has done so, he most assuredly came across the subsection on punishments for abdicating or forfeiting the throne. If Caspian cannot not prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he has a legitimate reason for renouncing the throne, he will be subject to full punishment under the law of Narnia.”

 

“What counts as a legitimate reason?” Susan asked.

 

“He must either be mentally or physically unfit to fulfill his duties as the new leader of Narnia. Or, he must have an heir to pass the throne onto.”

 

After Caspian had just fought in the battle against the Telmarines with the Narnians, proving that he was physically or mentally incompetent would be next to impossible. Finding an heir was out of the question as well because Peter had been Caspian’s first. There would be no secret woman or illegitimate child from an affair to be found, no matter how hard the Narnians searched.

 

“What is the punishment?” Peter asked, clenching his fists to calm the trembling of his hands.

 

“Public execution,” Aslan said gravely, doing nothing to tone down the severity of his response.

 

“What can we do?” Edmund asked when his older brother just stood there with his mouth open, looking as if someone had just murdered his entire family. “We’re supposed to leave Narnia within the hour. How is Peter supposed to make this right?”

 

“Peter is going nowhere,” Aslan roared, causing the youth in question to shakily take a step backwards. “Peter, you will saddle up Caspian’s horse this instant, taking with you whatever provisions you can carry. You will hasten Caspian away from this place, fleeing as far into the depths of the woods as you are able to go. Once there, you must remain hidden until I come to you with the solution to this catastrophe. Trust no one and never lower your sword.”

 

“What about the rest of us?” Susan asked on behalf of her siblings.

 

“Your task will be much safer, but not without its own complications.” Once again, Aslan faced Peter, giving him the sternest of looks. “Go at once, Peter. Avoid conflict if at all possible and keep Caspian safe.”

 

“I will defend him with my life,” Peter vowed, taking off for the castle in a sprint. He did his best to try not to think of the threat to Caspian’s life, knowing that their survival depended on his organizational skills and speed. As he flew into the castle, behaving as if there were crazed sprites at his heels, he already had a complete list of all the items he would need in order to disappear into the woods with Caspian – indefinitely.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as Peter was out of sight, Caspian began to feel the weight of Levarn’s scornful gaze on him. The dark haired interloper turned out to have more loyal supporters in his party than he had originally let on, because no sooner had he turned back to the Narnians and Telmarines gathered for the ceremony than his minions began to disperse the crowd. Simply cloaked men of similar stature and garb ushered the onlookers off of the castle grounds, row by row. And through it all, Levarn continued to condescendingly eye Caspian up and down.

 

“I fail to see why you were chosen to be the king of Narnia. You lack the mettle and regalia that are best suited for a king. Caspian the tenth,” Levarn scoffed. “You are nothing but a mere boy who is playing a game meant for real men.”

 

What real men? As far as Caspian could tell, the only real men had been sent away by Levarn’s henchmen. Now he was surrounded by nothing but scoundrels – ruffians who were pretending to be men of position. Caspian had spent far too many years in Miraz’ unsavory company, which had honed his keen judgment of character, to be fooled by costumes and phony airs. Levarn’s habit of talking down to others while holding himself in such high esteem was nothing but a revealing sign of a man with something to hide. He would rather deflect attention onto his opponents than have his own character called into question.

 

“While I suppose you are entitled to your opinion, I doubt that you are in much of a position to belittle me,” Caspian retorted as calmly as he could manage. “For if you truly were worthy king material, Miraz would have publicly acknowledged you – I’m sorry, how old did you say you were? – forty or so years ago.”

 

“Forty?!” Do I look forty to you? You arrogant whelp of a boy!” Levarn’s hand flew to the hilt of the sword that he had returned to the scabbard fastened to his hip. His green eyes blazed furiously at Caspian, actually seeming to give off a peculiar spark of power that couldn’t be explained by either the lighting or any known reflection.

 

Simultaneously, Caspian dropped into a battle stance and balanced Peter’s sword in his right hand. He watched those disconcertingly unnatural eyes shift from green to gold, and then back again, before he was forced to look away. His heart was beating rapidly by the time he had the good sense to begin to search for a means of escape. This was no normal foe standing before him. This was a black magician who wore the eyes of a serpent, and Caspian was trapped with him, sequestered from his comrades and fellow countrymen.

 

“You should have been taken care of last night,” Levarn sneered, grinding his teeth in irritation as he slid his sword from his scabbard. “I shouldn’t have had to get my hands dirty with the likes of you.”

 

“I beg your pardon?!” Caspian backed up a step, and then another as Levarn advanced on him.

 

“Your silly little campfire last night,” Levarn said with a crazed grin. “The one where High King Peter threw you to the ground in order to ravish you.” Levarn’s grin grew wider when Caspian’s face flushed pink and the sword that Peter had left with him trembled ever so slightly in his grasp. “Although things between you two ended quite abruptly, I must assume that they picked up again when your hero later returned to rescue you from _my_ tree spirit.”

 

All the color left Caspian’s face as he remembered the rough feeling of tree bark strapping itself to his limbs, restraining him, and clutching at his throat, choking him.

 

“You see, Caspian, I would have preferred for you to just vanish into thin air than have to challenge you like this. You being a boy of no title or relevance. You have wasted my time and resources, forcing me to publicly declare you a traitor to your country and your people.”

 

“A t—traitor?” Caspian could barely pronounce the word, he was still reliving the horror of being accosted by the violent tree that had been under Levarn’s command.

 

Levarn’s horribly twisted face settled back into a relaxed expression of amusement. He toyed with his prey, circling Caspian with his sword swinging this way and that, and watched the young _prince_ defensively react to him. “Surely your _lover_ would have warned you of the consequences of giving up the throne. Oh yes, Caspian, I know a great deal about you. Perhaps more than you know about yourself. While you were busy rolling in the sheets with High King Peter, I was using my time wisely by thinking of a way to prove that you are more than physically capable of accepting the throne. You see, if you are found to be without defect or flaw, you are obligated to accept the throne. Abdicating or forfeiting it without just cause is grounds for punishment. That punishment being one that is so old and outdated that it remained in the lawbooks merely because it was overlooked while all other forms of barbarism were removed.”

 

Caspian turned on his heel again to keep Levarn from slipping past his defenses, never dropping his guard or wavering with the sword in his grasp. “What sort of punishment? Would you kindly quit your posturing and　your indecent references to my private life and just state whatever it is that you’re threatening me with?”

 

“Public execution,” Levarn announced excitedly, enjoying the look of horror that aged Caspian’s features by several years. “You see, Caspian. I am going to challenge you to a duel and you will have no choice but to accept. If you win, you will have proven that you are fit for the throne… and then be put to death for refusing it. If you lose… well, it’s safe to say that you will die either way.”

 

Although Levarn had clearly said that he would challenge Caspian to a duel, his idea of challenging was to slash his sword down at the younger man’s head with absolutely no warning. It was a sheer miracle of reflexes that saved Caspian’s life. Caspian met Levarn’s sword, deflected the blow, and heaved it off with all his might. A second later, he was pushed backwards by Levarn’s upwards attack, which he engaged and held.

 

Both swordsmen kept up the pressure on their swords, twisting upwards and down again, but Levarn was bigger and heavier, and obviously had a lot more muscle on him, for he forced Caspian back onto his heels and off balance.

 

Before Levarn could chop his blade into Caspian’s middle, the younger, more athletic youth, leapt over the incoming danger and took up a low, defensive stance in preparation for the next attack. Where swordsmanship was concerned, Peter was the master of his weapon and fearless in his handling of the blade. Caspian lacked the full training and experience to really take on a man of Levarn’s caliber. Sure, he was doing a fine job of defending himself, but he could find no opening in the older man’s defenses, no means of switching to the offensive. And worse yet, he felt that Levarn was holding back, waiting for the right moment to take him down.

 

“Are you tired, Caspian? Were your extracurricular activities with Peter too strenuous for you last night?”

 

How could Levarn know about what he and Peter had been doing unless…? Either the castle had a spy or something in Caspian’s possession was enchanted with black magic.

 

“The only thing I am tired of, old man, is your boorish mouth,” Caspian shot back, scandalized by Levarn’s insight into the most intimate details of his private life.

 

Levarn charged forward with a terrible cry of outrage, his sword crashing into Caspian’s, drawing back and slashing again without hesitation. And again. Always changing angles, always tearing down with the force of both arms and the weight behind the body that held it.

 

Although Caspian was fast enough to block and guard the blows, he lacked the strength to fully shake them off or hold them back. He was knocked onto his back by a particularly harsh downwards attack, barely able to hold off Levarn’s blade. He had to push his left palm into the flat end of Peter’s blade to keep Levarn’s sword out of his face. But before he could get up or recover from the attack, Levarn wildly whacked the blade from his grasp, sending the sword sailing through the air. Caspian was just able to get his left hand out of the way in time before the blade could end up cutting off his fingers in the process.

 

“Well, that didn’t last long,” Levarn laughed wickedly, raising his sword high above his head and, without preamble, swung it down to kill his unarmed opponent.

 

Neither Caspian nor Levarn paid any heed to the sudden shuddering of the ground beneath them, but the onlookers belonging to Levarn’s entourage began to shout and scatter. Levarn was too focused on delivering the killing blow to Caspian that he didn’t notice the black steed until it was almost upon him.

 

Levarn wasn’t shown any mercy when the powerful black horse reared up, wildly swinging its front legs, its hard hooves clipping the swordsman on the head and sending him sprawling to the ground. When a few of his followers tried to come to his aid, the rider yanked on the reins once more, urging the horse to kick the three men that were closest to its rear with two powerful hind legs.

 

Caspian stared at the black horse and its rider in stupefied amazement. “Destrier! Peter!”

 

Peter leaned over the side of the horse and offered Caspian his hand. “Quick! Get astride this crazy beast of yours before he bucks me off!”

 

“Wait! Your sword…” Caspian picked himself off of the ground and hurriedly retrieved Peter’s sword from where it had fallen. When he turned back to both the horse and rider, he was surprised to see them battling with each other. Peter was trying to pull Destrier one way, but the horse was apparently sick of its rider because it was trying to go off in the other direction.

 

“Someone. Kill. That. Boy!” Levarn shouted madly, getting to his feet and hurling his sword in Caspian’s direction.

 

Peter grasped Caspian’s forearm and pulled him up, trying to steady the horse while his lover swung his other leg over and settled himself in the saddle. Taking his sword from Caspian, Peter replaced it in its sheathe on his hip and moved back a little to give his lover room. Before Levarn or his men could get too close, Peter leaned forward, pressing into Caspian from behind, and handed his lover the reins. “GO!” He shouted, digging his feet into the stirrups.

 

Caspian urged Destrier into a quick canter and then a full gallop, racing at breakneck speed for the river.

 

“NO!” Peter shouted into Caspian’s ear over the howling of the wind. “You’re going in the wrong direction. Head for the woods!”

 

“I can’t! There are too many men in that direction!”

 

Sure enough, Levarn had already managed to send his minions, also on horseback, to cut off one of their escape routes – the one that Aslan had specifically told Peter to take. A grouping of seven or eight men spread out along the entry to the woods, readying their bows and arrows.

 

“But Aslan told us to seek refuge in the woods!”

 

“What would you have me do? Ride right into them?” Caspian continued to aim Destrier for the river, manipulating the reins carefully when the horse began to lose its footing on the rocky terrain. As soon as they were back on the smooth embankment, Caspian sent the horse splashing straight into the river. When the horse suddenly plunged forward, Caspian was nearly thrown off. Peter grabbed his lover around the waist and held onto him as they were tipped this way and that, Destrier struggling to maintain his footing in the ever-changing waters of the river.

 

They had barely made it to the other side when they heard Levarn’s men in hot pursuit.

 

“We need to go faster!” Peter grabbed the reins back from Caspian, leaned far forward so that he was crushing his lover against Destrier’s mane, and demanded the horse really pick up speed. They flew across empty fields and sent Narnians in their path darting for cover. For miles, they continued at a gallop, pushing Caspian’s horse nearly to its limits. Peter didn’t slow for the hills, or pause at the canyon. He just kept going. But it wasn’t until they were nearly upon a very desolate looking mountain that he realized they were completely lost.


End file.
